


Superfluous

by glockenspielium



Series: there is nothing for me (but to love you) [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel
Genre: Angie is my precious potato, Bisexual Peggy Carter, F/F, Some of the plot stuff, and some of the fluffy stuff too, vintage lady lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 08:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6415552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glockenspielium/pseuds/glockenspielium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Angie can't sleep, and it's (kinda) all Peggy's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Superfluous

With a restless, irritated sigh, Angie kicks the covers off her once more, the fresh night’s air washing over her bare legs with a cool ease. Too warm, yet again, and if the past two hours were any kind of track record to go by, she'd be too cold before long; tonight was just not her lucky night for falling asleep.

It was stupid, really. Not that she was stupid herself, and only a fool would ever attempt to call Peggy stupid, even behind her back- and not that the dinner hadn't been a lovely idea. After all, Peg had never even seen a Broadway show, after living in New York all this time, and every girl knows you don't take someone to see a show and not buy them dinner beforehand. Angie, of course, knows that this usually is the responsibility of the dashing young man who is doing the taking-to-the-show, but Peg doesn't have to know that, does she?

And who's to say that two gorgeous ladies can't have a night out on the town together? Peggy's surely roamed the streets of London with her friends, before the war perhaps, and Angie and her friends have had some fabulous nights with cheap seats to the theatre or to the latest movie, bustling along the freezing streets all bundled together and giggling. It's a perfectly lovely, normal way to spend the night.

So then, what was so different about tonight?

With another low sigh, Angie reaches down and pulls up the blankets once again, tucking them up under her chin and pressing the tips of her fingers under her cheeks. Peggy had seemed to be enjoying herself too, and that's what it was all about; making sure she didn't spend all her time holed up with those idiots from her phone company and not enjoying what can be enjoyed on a Friday night in New York City, with nothing but a combination of a waitress’s salary and a few obliging smiles. But then, Peggy _had_ seemed to be having a nice time, smiling and looping the spaghetti around and around her fork, her eyes flicking from the bowl to Angie's face as she giggled through the stories of bizarre customers and unpleasant requests, even dropping her fork in shock when she heard what one of the bolder young men had said to her.

"He didn't-?"

"Well, sure he did!" And it had been awful, at the time, but there was no need for her to admit that now.

"But he should be arrested and charged for that, at the very least!"

Angie had tried to ignore the hot flush that came over her at the dark, protective flash of anger that had come over Peggy's face, and the outrage of her voice. It was stupid to see it as anything more than the concern of a good friend. But it was a nice warmth all the same, starting somewhere deep beneath her chest and spread down to her very toes. It had stayed there as they linked arms and made their way down the busy streets to the theatre.

The tickets had been bought last minute, so they’d climbed right up the top of the circle seats, but then Peggy had pointed out that from where they sat, they would best be able to appreciate the set design and staging as a whole, and that the lead voices would better meld with the chorus as a distance; and the two dusty, red velvet seats tucked in the back corner didn't seem half so bad.

Even if they had cost Angie two weeks of savings, it was worth it. She was worth it.

Not even feigning an attempt at sleep anymore, she sits up in her bed, pulling the pillow along behind her to prop up her back, and switching on the lamp. The warm light spills across her tiny room, illuminating the wooden cabinet at the foot of her bed, and her own two feet poking stubbornly out the end of her sheets.

Angie reaches over and plucks the stub of a ticket off her bedside table. The musical was bright and fun, the dancers were daring and the romance was unrealistic but enchanting all the same, and yet somehow it hadn't drawn her in the way the shows usually did.

Ha. _Somehow_.

She rolls her eyes into the shadowy corners of her room with a smirk, turning the ticket over in her fingers. It’s just like her Ma had always said-

"Lie to your teachers and your parents, but it's no good lying to yourself!" Angie whispers aloud into the night.

Her Ma was pretty clever, after all.

Sure, the show had been great and the dinner was tasty, but then there was the smell of Peggy's perfume and the way it had lingered after they'd embraced, and then the warm firmness of her strong arm pressed up against Angie's as they had matched each other's steps along the pavement- there was the way she'd done her best to pay attention to what Peggy was saying and not just stare at the silhouette of her elegant profile cast up onto the shop-fronts in front of them by each street lamps they passed - there was the distracting way she could see that her hands were hardened and calloused, working hands, but when they closed around Angie's fingers to pull her up into the curb, or brushed across her cheeks as she'd reached over to adjust Angie's hat, they had also been soft as gossamer, gentle and light, and something about the dichotomy of the two conflicting sensations sent Angie's stomach into a series of summersaults and left her skin tingling for minutes after Peggy's touch had moved on.

There's no mistaking what is going on.

She has it bad.

Now, normally this wouldn't be a cause for concern. Angie has a steady job to hold and a house-matron with opinions on pre-marital relations more impenetrable than Captain America’s shield, but more importantly, Angie isn't just a slave to her passions. _Normally_ , she can control herself perfectly well and take charge of her hormones, or feelings, or whatever this might be.

But Peggy is by no means normal, and she never will be.

And Angie wouldn't change that for the world.

And Angie has it bad.

Placing the ticket reverently back down onto the wooden table, she crosses her arms over her chest and sighs, again. This is no good. There's absolutely no way she's getting to sleep anytime soon, and given that she's organised to meet Peggy for dinner tomorrow after her shift is over at the diner, there's a very large chance that she'll be just as restless come tomorrow night. And then quite possibly the night after that.

The thing is, Angela Martinelli is no coward. She’s better than that, or she’s become better than that, ever since her life became divided into before and after she’d met Peggy. Swinging her legs over the side of the mattress, she pushes the sheets off again, but this time, she’s not guided by indecision. This time, she knows what she needs to do.

This ends, tonight.

Tying the ribbon firmly about the waist of her dressing gown and quickly running her fingers along the rebellious strands of hair that had escaped her braid, pulling them into line, Angie takes a final look at her reflection in the mirror at the end of her bed and, with a satisfied nod, strides over to her bedroom door and yanks it open-

And stops dead in her tracks.

Peggy's hand is raised at shoulder height, closed in a fist paused directly where a door had been one second earlier. Her hair is neat and tight in it’s curlers but her gown is messily tied and slightly open at the front, so the pale skin of her throat with a hint of something silky just beneath are suddenly directly in Angie's line of sight.

Her own hand is still holding the door knob, gripping tightly as her gaze moves up to Peggy's startled expression, her furrowed brow, her pink, flushed cheeks, her soft lips, fallen open in surprise, parting perfectly without the quietest of curious sounds.

That's what does it- those lips.

There might have been things that Angie had planned to say, things she should be saying first and that they should be discussing and- but none of that matters now, all that's important is Angie grabbing the front of Peggy's clothes and dragging her into the room (and damn if she doesn't make another gorgeous little noise at that) and pushing her up against the wood of the newly closed bedroom door, and kissing Peggy Carter like she's never been kissed before.

Or at least, that’s her aim. Angie's mouth pressing upwards, hot and needy, wanting to taste Peggy's perfect lips and then, now that they've done that, wanting to nothing else ever again. She tastes like melon and honey, which is ridiculous but somehow true, and even then she tastes sweeter still, but also warm and solid, filling a gap that Angie hadn’t even noticed was there.

But then there's a pregnant pause where Peggy seems mostly frozen and confused, which is hardly like Peggy at all, and Angie thinks perhaps maybe she should have said something first, something clever like they always do in the films, and she makes as if to draw back and explain herself. She doesn't get more than half an inch away from Peggy's face when those strong arms are pulling her close once more, and Peggy's kissing her hard and long, one hand curling around her waist to anchor her close and-

And it’s _Peggy_ , and her kisses are demanding and direct, but what else should she have expected? She kisses her back eagerly, seizing Peggy's lower lip between her own and shuddering as Peggy pauses only to tilt her head ever so slightly so they fit together at a new, deeper angle than before. Angie's hands press up against the door, her body leaning into Peggy's, matching her from knees to neck, filling any last vestiges of dead space between them, aching for the warmth of her, even through the suddenly inconvenient many layers of clothing, pressed up against her every curve. They catch stolen breaths between each ardent kiss, barely pausing before crashing together once more, kissing in the quiet night as the rest of the hallway and the world fades away, leaving nothing but the two of them and a door to hold them up.

Peggy’s lips trail away from her lips, and Angie makes a short noise of protest, which swiftly dissolves into a low moan as Peggy makes her way along her jaw, kissing and then licking against the sensitive skin she finds there, completely undoing any inch of resolve Angie had been holding onto, and her hands drop from the door to Peggy’s shoulders, using them as an anchor to pull herself up onto her toes, Peggy’s arms tightening and supporting her frame, and her head is angling back to match the lips working down her throat when a sudden hard sensation against the back of her neck stops her short.

“What-?”

They both move at the same time, heads swinging forward and smacking together loudly. Angie, slightly unsteady on her feet, falls half a step backwards, but Peggy’s arm wound around her waist holds firm, keeping her upright. The other hand detaches itself from somewhere behind Angie’s shoulders to reveal the source of her discomfort.

“I’d thought I might trouble you for that, er, cup of sugar you’d mentioned?” She’s holding a plastic cup and blushing rather furiously, and Angie discovers that she adores the sight of the pink spreading across her cheeks and resolves to make Peggy blush on the regular. Tonight, she settles for reaching up and brushing her thumb along those angular cheekbones, and watching her warm brown eyes widen at the contact. It’s bizarre to see her so unsettled, but thrilling all at same time, to think that it’s her who’s making it happen.

“What, at this hour? Not very neighbourly of you.”

Not pausing for a response, her fingers move decisively down to Peggy’s collarbone, tracing along the delicate skin, carefully pushing under the fabric of her dressing gown, both women breathing quietly, watching intently as her fingers slowly makes their way across the curve of the bone, until the shoulder of the gown finally slips off Peggy’s shoulder. Angie smiles up at her.

“And a pretty terrible excuse, if I’ve ever heard one.”

And then Peggy’s smirking back down at her, and she’s doing a clever trick with her legs, curling behind Angie’s ankle and spinning her around so she finds herself suddenly wedged between the door and Peggy’s merciless lips, and moments later the cup is sent flying to the floor somewhere.

Neither of them checks to see where it lands.

 

**Author's Note:**

> "A kiss is a lovely trick designed by nature to stop speech when words become superfluous." (Ingrid Bergman)


End file.
